


my heart can never be still

by inkk



Series: alphabet AU challenge [10]
Category: Bandom, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, M/M, One Shot, Robbery, a tiny bit of period-typical homophobia/racism, this is really dumb ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>J</b> is for <b>Jook</b>.</p><p>(In which Kellin is a thief and Vic thinks he's a funny egg.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	my heart can never be still

**Author's Note:**

> ***GLOSSARY***  
>  **jook/juke joint** \- an informal establishment featuring music, dancing, gambling, and drinking, //primarily operated by African American people// in the southeastern United States  
>  **Mister Charlie** \- a white man  
>  **poof/nancy/fairy** \- an effeminate or homosexual man  
>  **jake** \- alright/fine/okay  
>  **cabbage** \- money  
>  **butt me** \- asking for a cigarette  
>  **yegg** \- thief/robber/burglar  
>  **blow** \- leave  
>  **cooler** \- jail/prison  
>  **box job** \- safe-cracking  
>  **bindle punk** \- a nomad  
>  **dewdropper** \- a lazy, unemployed man who sleeps all day  
>  **bit** \- sentenced  
>  ===========
> 
> title comes from the song 'Dust Bowl Dance' by Mumford & Sons.
> 
> enjoy! :)

+

The jook goes dead quiet when Kellin walks in.

The rowdy mood falls almost completely flat except for suspicious whispers - onstage, even the banjo and fiddle players stop playing to survey him with a wary eye. Kellin steels his nerve and claims a seat at the makeshift bar nonetheless, shooting the bartender a brief smile. "Whatever you've got that isn't that God-awful rotgut moonshine, please."

The bartender smirks and fetches a dirty glass. After a moment, the banjo player resumes plucking out a catchy tune and the lively atmosphere picks up where it left off.

"So, what's a Mister Charlie like you doing in a place like this?" a young, slightly grimy hispanic fellow eventually asks, polite smile and good humour with an underlying edge sharp enough to cut glass.

The bartender rolls his eyes, setting down Kellin's drink in from of him. "It's jake, Vic. He's a poof."

"Oh?" The man raises an eyebrow, taking a seat at the bar. "Well, I'll be damned. You're just another outcast like the rest of us, then, huh?"

Kellin inclines his head in a slight nod and takes a sip of diluted wine. He savours it - with prohibition laws in effect, there's no saying when he'll be able to get his hands on more.

"Kellin," he clears his throat, belatedly introducing himself. He holds out a hand for Vic to shake.

"Vic," the man says with a more relaxed grin, "Pleasure to meet you." His grip is warm and solid. "So, _Kellin_ , what do you do for a living?"

Kellin shrugs. "Odd jobs here and there."

Vic eyes him curiously, a knowing glint flashing across his expression. "Ah," he finally says. "I see. Get any good ones lately?"

"Pretty good," Kellin replies, shifting awkwardly. "Got enough cabbage to get me to the next town over, that is."

"I bet," Vic says, a thoughtful tint to his tone as he drums his fingers on the counter. "I'm still stuck out in the sugar beet fields for now, but I'd rather not be."

"Oh," Kellin says. Unsure of how to proceed, he hurriedly finishes off the glass of wine and asks, "Care to butt me?"

"Alright," Vic agrees after a moment. "You want to take this outside?"

Twisting around and sneaking a glance at the rest of the joint, Kellin is met with several pairs of eyes openly glaring back at him. He swallows. "Yes, let's."

Standing up from the bar, Vic leads the way over creaky floorboards to a back door leading out onto a gravel patch, leaning one shoulder against the side of the building as he fishes out a pack of cigarettes.

"Oh, you don't actually have to," Kellin dismissively waves a hand, "I just wanted to talk to you alone."

Vic arches one eyebrow, placing a cigarette between his lips and pulling out a dented lighter. "You're a bit of a funny egg, aren't you?" he asks, corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he takes a deep drag. "I mean," he says in answer to Kellin's puzzled expression, exhaling smoke, "If you hadn't already noticed, you're a white fella at a juke joint in the backcountry."

"It's just as the bartender said - I'm a nancy." Kellin lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Besides, it's the only place in miles that serves alcohol."

Vic snorts. "Yeah, alright. Level with me for a minute, though. What's your story?"

"Not much to tell. I take jobs where I can find them and then I get out of dodge."

"So you're telling me you're not a yegg?"

Kellin frowns. "I didn't say--"

"Don't get yourself in a lather," Vic interrupts him with a chuckle. "It's fine, I'll keep out of your beeswax if you want me to."

"I never said that, either."

"Ah." Vic looks down at the ground and takes another drag, scuffing one ratty boot on the ground and kicking up a swirl of dust. He cocks his head. "I see how it is." Then, "How long 'til you blow town?"

"I'll be gone by sunrise," Kellin answers quietly. "The jewelry shopkeeper's wife is starting to get suspicious, so it'd be... unwise to extend my stay any longer."

"Right."

Kellin clears his throat, turning to look out at the grass. "I might have room for one more," he says eventually. "You know, like a partner." He sighs. "It's not glamorous, by any means, but I get myself by - never been put in the cooler, either. I reckon can pull off best damn box job in the country--"

"Yeah, you and every other bindle punk 'round town," Vic laughs, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Kellin rolls his eyes. "Fine, then, suit yourself," he huffs, turning on his heel to walk back inside.

Vic catches him by the arm. "Hey, wait! C'mon, you know I didn't mean that."

Kellin lifts his chin. "I'm not some kind of... of... lazy, no good dewdropper," he says haughtily, "and I won't stand here and be treated as such!"

"I get it," Vic grins, raising his hands in mock-surrender, "I think you're real swell. And I'd absolutely love it if you'd be so kind as to take me with you."

"You mean that?" Kellin asks after a moment, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "Because I might be a fairy, but I still sure as hell won't stand for any funny business."

Vic stubs his cigarette out on the peeling paint of the building. "You've got moxie - I'll give you that," he admits, shaking his head in apparent wonder. "I don't know very much about burgling, though."

"No problem," Kellin snorts. "I'll teach you. I've never been bit before, and I won't be anytime soon."

"Are we jake, then?" Vic asks, holding out a hand. "Partners?"

Kellin takes it and shakes. "Partners."

 

\+ + +

 

_Some months later._

"Pass me the lockpick, would you?" Vic whispers, tapping Kellin on the shoulder.

Obligingly, he fishes it out and hands it over. "What's in there, d'you reckon?" he asks, taking another cautious look around the alley before turning back to excitedly eyeing the door.

Vic flashes him a devilish grin as the pick slides home. "Only one way to find out."

 

+

**Author's Note:**

> after doing research for this story, i feel like i can safely say that i now know a lot more about America in the 20's.  
> as always, thank you so unbelievably much for reading (and leaving kudos/comments)! :))


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